An Aussie Scorned
by Nighthawk47
Summary: House makes a joke at Chase's expense and the Aussie doesn't appreciate the results.
1. Chapter 1

Title: An Aussie Scorned

Summary: House pulls a prank. Chase wants to retaliate. Retaliation vs. SWS (Scared Wombat Syndrome)

Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D. or any of the characters, which is really a shame. For me, at least.

Author's Note: Comments are always welcome. At least one more chapter should be on the way. :)

* * *

"You told her I'm _gay_!"

"You'll have to be more specific," House answered simply, though he had an idea what the Aussie in front of him was currently huffing about. Chase clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes before continuing on his rant.

"Nicole, from radiology."

The smugness was so potent it was almost tangible as deft, practiced hands casually tossed an oversized tennis ball back and forth. House pretended to put a great deal of thought into the matter, as if he couldn't quite remember the woman in question. "Nicole... leggy blonde with the tight shirts, come hither breasts, and a nice ass? Good choice - a bit out of _your_ reach, but points for being ambitious. I didn't tell her you were gay."

"She said you did!"

"Well, obviously her perception is skewed. She overheard Wilson complaining about you missing your date. Naturally she was concerned... I guess that means she wasn't out of your reach after all. Bummer. Too bad you're gay."

"I'm not!"

"She said you were."

"_You_ said I was!" The intensivist's voice had raised in volume and pitch. His frustration leaked through as he noted that his boss was enjoying this far more than he should be (but not unexpectedly).

"Why would I care that you're gay?"

"I'm _not_."

"Strange then, you making rendevous plans with Wilson when you're straight... Even stranger though, that he would accept. Remind me to interrogate him later." He couldn't help smirking as Chase tossed his hair as would a horse tossing its mane. If he hadn't been scowling so intensely, House would have assumed that his underling was auditioning for a shampoo comercial. Such a girlish frustrated tick, he noted.

"What _date_?" the Australian questioned, altogether worried over the tangled path he would likely be wound down because of a supposedly simple and harmless question. Give a House an inch and he'll chase you for a mile, all the while rapping on your shoulder with his cane just to annoy you.

"Yesterday, two o'clock. You were late. For shame. I've always taught you the value of punctuality."

"Yesterday? That was a _consult!_"

Here comes that cane poking... "So the soft glow of the MRI machine instead of candles, and the hum of the monitors instead of Mr. Marvin Gaye. You could see how Nicole would misunderstand." Right on time.

"Especially when you feed it to her. She's spread it all over the hospital."

There was more eye-rolling and annoyed hair-tossing. Right on time. "Oh boy, now so _that's_ the icing on the cake that proverb quoting soaps characters are always talking about. You know, you can't TiVo this kind of entertainment."

There was no explanation in House's mind for why he would let the woman believe that Chase was riding the hobby-horse. Except, of course, for the fact that the opportunity had presented itself so _beautifully_. Really, it had been like a work of art. An especially welcome one after a particularly grueling day of boredom in the clinic. He may not believe in fate but he would gladly - temporarily - reform for the sake of amusement at the Dingo's expense. Especially when his embarrassed and annoyed shuffle to the door expressed a million times over that quiet moping would be all the retaliation to be expected. Getting away with it so easily almost took the fun out of it. Almost.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Retaliation. (Pt. 2 of An Aussie Scorned)

Summary: House pulls a prank. Chase wants to retaliate. Retaliation vs. SWS (Scared Wombat Syndrome)

Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D., despite all the times I've spent wishing I did.

Author's Note: Comments are always welcome. Thanks so much for all of your comments in pt. 1, they were really appreciated. :) I'm glad you guys enjoyed it.

* * *

Life was good. Yesterday, Chase had been hit on by a male nurse, an intern that House had always had suspicions about, and a radiologist that had caught them both completely by surprise - and all before noon. Even the clinic couldn't get the older man down, despite being forced to treat a woman who had diagnosed herself with glaucoma when she simply needed a stronger glasses prescription.

Today, the goal was to try and set Chase up on a blind date with any number of the hospital's available and interested bachelors. Step two would be telling him and trying to keep track of how many shades of red the young man turned. House popped a pill into his mouth and swallowed, allowing his thoughts to float idly over his schemes for the day. A voice broke into his musings; it was the bored voice of a man in a delivery uniform who was making it blatantly obvious that there were plenty of things he would prefer to be doing, none of which included his job. "Delivery for Dr. House?"

"I'm Dr. House. Unless that's a bomb you're holding, in which case _that _guy's Dr. House." A cane pointed at a random patient punctuated the statement.

"A dozen roses, courtesy of Speedy Boots Delivery. " The man was speaking louder than necessary, calling the attention of everybody in the clinic. The patients were simply curious about the scene, whereas those working couldn't help questioning who would be mentally unbalanced or who would have taste questionable enough to send the gruff diagnostician flowers. (A bouquet of vicodin would probably make a more suitable and well recieved gift.)

"You must have the wrong guy. You're obviously looking for somebody who's well-liked."

"It says here on the card - 'For Dr. Greg House. ' "

"Care of?"

" 'With Love - ' " the man began loudly before being quickly interrupted, yet again.

" - _'Love'_. Now, you may not get the humor in that, but everyone else who's currently staring at you in your ridiculously hideous green shorts knows that _that's_ indication enough that those overpriced flowers you're holding were probably meant for some cuddly cancer patient."

The man wasn't amused, nor was he impressed. Instead, he gave House a blank look before clearing his throat and continuing. " '_With Love_, Dr. James Wilson.' "

It seemed that at that moment, everyone began bustling around, working extra hard at their respective jobs. But the moment the sound of the cane, thudding on the hard linoleum floor, receded into the distance and was swallowed by the elevator, conversation ran rampant. Most of it was along the lines of, "Should have known..." The grapevine had settled briefly, the hospital staff satisfied to finally have material in their normally bare arsenal of defense against House. The delivery man simply smiled smugly at the thought of having just earned himself a twenty dollar tip.

House noticed the other employees stopping their conversation whenever he drew near. Others simply hurried in the opposite direction (not unusual in and of itself, except that they now moved more quickly and avoided his eye contact). He smiled softly to himself thinking that maybe this had been a blessing in disguise, because for the last hour, he'd had no trouble getting people to leave him alone.

"Delivery for Dr. House," came a young voice and the doctor turned, looking at the teenage boy behind him in masked disbelief. "Are you Dr. House?" the young man asked, and immediately regretted doing so when he saw the expression on the unfriendly man's face. Blue eyes narrowed as his gaze flickered to the roses in the boy's hands.

"Your delivery people must have not gotten the point last time. I don't do flowers."

A few nurses noticed a skinny young man in a green delivery outfit hurrying out the hospital doors, looking as though his life had just flashed before his eyes. In reality, he'd simply been threatened with a prostate exam, courtesy of House's cane. The same hostility was afforded to the delivery man who came the next hour. And the hour after that... In fact, a bouquet of roses was showing up every hour, on the hour, to the hospital, courtesy of Speedy Boots Delivery, care of - or rather, "With Love," as each had loudly proclaimed for all patients and workers to hear - Dr. James Wilson.

The diagnostician's office was filled with the annoying aroma of roses before lunch time rolled around. Foreman raised his eyebrows questioningly, Cameron took pleasure in arranging the vases around the room, and Chase wore a look of mild amusement.


	3. Chapter 3

Title:Game Point (Pt.3 of An Aussie Scorned)

Summary: House pulls a prank. Chase wants to retaliate. Retaliation vs. SWS (Scared Wombat Syndrome)

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of the other characters, nor am I making any money off this... true definition of a labor of love.

Author's Note: Comments are always welcome. Thanks so much for all of your comments in pt. 1, they were really appreciated. :) I'm glad you guys enjoyed it.

* * *

House stormed into Wilson's office, not bothering to knock. "You and I are gay, thought you'd like to know."

"What?"

"Haven't you heard? It's all over the hospital. "

The oncologist shot a confused look at the man before returning to his files as he shook his head. "Tell you what, go out, come back in, and repeat everything you just said with your english subtitles on."

"You've been proclaiming your love every hour on the hour. With roses, no less. Or so the hospital would be led to believe." Getting no response, he added, "It's _payback_."

"What, from an angry florist? I thought I was up to date on everyone you had pissed off." House sat across from Wilson's desk and put his feet up, directly onto the file the man was trying to read. Giving up on catching up on his work, he leaned back in his seat with a sigh, prepared to humor his friend.

"Chase was somewhat miffed that I let the hospital think you and he were burning the midnight oil."

"Thank you for that, by the way. That's _just_ what I needed to deal with to boost my ego," Wilson interjected sarcastically. "Steve in radiology came on to me."

"So now," House continued as if he had never been interruped, "Chase sends me flowers under your name, every hour to get them to think that you're interested in _me_. I must say, between yesterday and today, your taste has _vastly_ improved."

The pair looked up as Cameron entered the office with obvious discomfiture. She looked skittish as she handed over an envelope. "Some mail came for you."

"Well, it's in an envelope instead of a vase, so it's a welcome change," House said snidely. When she didn't leave, he raised his eyebrows. "I'm not tipping you."

"Is it true - "

"_No_," Wilson answered before House had a chance to, wanting to prevent anymore crossfire wounds to what was left of his reputation. "Spread _that_ around, if you'd like."

"And Chase?"

House hid his smile and answered happily, "Well, he isn't, but his boyfriend sure is." Cameron rolled her eyes.

"House," she said reproachfully.

"Have you asked him yourself?"

"I haven't been able to get to him all day. He won't talk to us."

Wilson shot the grumpy diagnostician a look of disbelief. "So you took a team that was working _fine _together and now they aren't talking to each other... You thought this out really well."

"It's not my fault he can't take a joke, " came the defense. Cameron took this as an admission of Chase's heterosexuality and opened her mouth to chastise her boss, but he held up a hand, cutting her off. He pointed to the door and she took it as her cue to leave, but not before shooting him an annoyed look at his childishness.

There were a few moments of silence in which House contemplated Chase's retaliation. He said simply, "...Mine was better."

"_What?_"

"Come on, getting the hospital to think that the pretty Aussie is gay? Priceless."

"How is that any different from what he did?"

"People are _afraid_ of _me_," the diagnostician answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "They'll shut up when I come around. Chase couldn't scare anyone if he walked up carrying a gun in one hand and a vial of the black plague in the other."

"So, the fact that they'll talk about you behind your back is better?" Wilson was struggling unsuccessfully to understand his friend's line of thinking. He ventured forward, attempting a bit of earth-people logic. "You do realize that this isn't an _actual_ competition you have going on here, right? There's no trophy waiting for you."

"If it _were_ a competition, I'd win."

"From what I've heard, he won six bouquet's ago!"

"Mine was calculated - it was _beautiful_. Pure tactics... When it comes to calculating, I'm advanced calculus; _he's_ barely learning how to count to twenty without having to take his shoes off."

"Uh...huh," was all the response that the oncologist could think of. He trained to regain his mental footing. As well as he felt he knew House, there were always times when talking to the man made him wonder at his own logistical thinking.

The crinkling of paper could be heard in the otherwise quiet office, as the older man opened the envelope. A scoff called Wilson's attention to the paper currently held in the other man's hand. He reached over the desk and took the letter he was being offered. Brown eyes widened and a smile played on the oncologist's lips. "Well, the _calculations _for a price of ten dozen roses sure seems about right."

The enclosed letter had read, "Item: 9 dozen roses. Total cost: $725.00" However, the note of most interest to the two men, was the one that said, "Billed to: Dr. Gregory House."

Wilson couldn't help chuckling at his friend's expense. Seven-hundred-and-twenty five dollars of expense, to be precise. Handing back the bill, he questioned innocently, "So... would you like me to go have Chase's trophy personalized?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **The Virtue of Patience and Sweetness of Revenge (pt. 4 to An Aussie Scorned)

**Summary: **Chase has retaliated after House's prank. House hasn't gotten revenge yet and Chase is beginning to squirm. Will he be ready if his boss comes up with another scheme?

**Author's Note:** Ibelieve the fic is drawing to a close. I'm working on one last chapter, and hopefully, I'll beable toget something hammered outsoon. Thank you so much for all the reads and the support. Your comments have been really appreciated. :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House, or the other main characters. I'm also not being paid to write this, but if I was, legally, that would be great. :p

* * *

Chase expected retaliation. Not receiving it immediately made him nervous rather than giving him a sense of security. He didn't know what to expect when he walked into work the day after his war of the roses. What the intensivist _wasn't _prepared for was a lack of any outright response from House. No whoopee cushions on his seat, no re-working of his clinic hours so he'd only get the patients suffering from embarrassing rashes, not even any glib or sarcastic remarks - other than the _usual_ amount of glib and sarcastic remarks that any day entailed. 

Perhaps the older man had conceded. It was an unlikely possibility, the Aussie was aware, but maybe he'd grown bored of his game because the talk had quieted already. Chase was privy to the gossip being spread regarding his boss but few, if any people in the hospital would mock the man to his face. Also, nobody - female _or_ male - would be masochistic enough to make a pass at the older man like had happened in _his_ particular case. In fact, the only occurrence that had colored his otherwise unnervingly dull day was the fact that a few of the more forward men in the hospital had continued their attempts at courting the blond in hopes of setting a date and time to meet - outside the routine hospital environment.

The end of his shift arrived, none too quickly. As it was, he was expecting his mischief karma to catch up with him when he was on his way out the hospital doors at the closing moments of the day. To orchestrate a precisely timed repayment for his deeds of yesterday, just as he was feet or even inches from freedom would be completely and utterly... _House_. He'd once heard Foreman say, "It's not paranoia if somebody's out to get you." Chase's desire to run out of the hospital, zigging and zagging like he was avoiding the blasts of an enemy, would never be argued as mere paranoia by anybody in the PPTH.

His preparedeness was for nothing. He checked out and took quick, tense steps towards the glass doors. Light eyes darted back and forth, and the young man couldn't help wondering if he were stuck in a revamped, modern version of Indiana Jones. And if so, when he could expect the boulder to roll towards him. Chase trudged on, reaching out his hand for the handle. Maybe the there would be extra wax on the floor and he would slip and fall, creating a ruckus, causing a scene, and leading to an overwhelming number of, "Did you hear the one about the doctor getting hurt in the hospital?" jokes. About thirty-seconds of-fresh-air later and he realized that he had made it out unscathed. At the same time that this realization hit, a fresh wave of paranoia hit at the curiosity over whether or not he could finally recieve his comeuppance the next day and be done with it.

One day down, an endless amount of possible waiting to go. It had gotten to the point, even after merely one day, where Chase was begining to consider asking his boss to simply embarrass him now and get it out of his system.

However, his mind was pulled to other matters in a most unwelcome way. He picked up his mail and walked to the clinic, shuffling through the papers and feeling thrilled to finally have something to distract him from his current predicament. An invitation to an upcoming conference, a response to an article he'd written, another invitation and his paycheck. One envelope in particular caught the young doctor's eye. It was a plain envelope with only his name written in unfamiliar handwriting on the front. Opening it up, his jaw dropped slightly, causing him to look much like a fish struggling desperately to breathe outside it's natural watery habitat.

Anybody observing would probably have wondered what could cause a person to go so slack-jawed. In this case, it was a letter. An amorous, forward, and almost poetic letter expressing a well of affection. More surprising than the content was its sender. At the bottom of the page was the signature of the president of the board and an incredibly suggestive drawing. Chase groaned, thinking that House's joke had hit an all-time low when it resulted in the president of the board propositioning him. His day grew worse by the second as the board member in question walked into the clinic and over to the front desk.

"Sir? May I have a word with you?" the Aussie stammered, recieving a curious glance.

"... I suppose. But it'll have to be quick."

A few broken sentences made their way out of his mouth and he was sure that if his face were to burn any brighter than it was at that moment, it would burst into flame. "I'm very flattered, but I have to tell you, I'm not attracted to you. - Actually, it has nothing to do with you, it's men. I'm not attracted to men."

A blank stare and Chase began to pray that he wouldn't be forced to repeat his words. "Excuse me?"

"Your letter, it's very flattering. I just... I'm not gay - "

* * *

" - House, what did you do?" Dr. Wilson asked as he observed his friend eyeing Chase from behind a bush in the clinic waiting room. "Why is Chase over there, talking to the _president of the board_?" 

"If you'd shut up and let me concentrate, I'd be able to tell you. They really should make Reading Lips for Dummies; then you wouldn't have to ask me all these idiotic questions because you could figure it out all on your own." House could see the burning in the boy's cheeks from where he was sitting, across the room.

"Let me guess, your brilliant plan was to send him over to ask an embarrassing question, right?" The oncologist rolled his eyes at his friend, wondering if it would be possible for the man to ever find a _normal_ hobby. He quickly dismissed the idea as unrealistic.

"Didn't need to send him. He did it all on his own. And by my calculations, he should be saying something horrifyingly stupid right... about... _bingo _-"

* * *

" - You _didn't_ write the letter? Then who - " It was at this moment that House chose to stand up and move to the young man's side as fast as his cane would allow. 

"Dr. Chase, what have I told you about bothering high-end hospital officials?" He gave an overly enthusiastic smile to the board leader and turned to the intensivist, who was doing something between silently seething and wondering why the ground never opened up and swallowed someone when they wanted it to.

"We were just talking about..."

"His orientation," the director interjected gruffly, clearly not wishing to partake in the conversation any further.

The older doctor simply waved away the statement and said, "There are so much more interesting things to talk about. Now signatures are interesting. Dr. Chase, did you know that those really squiggly signatures, like our lovely president of the board here, are usually much _easier_ to forge than the really neat ones?..."


End file.
